


simmer, simmer, simmer

by Pawprinter



Series: Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Challenge Fics [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Canon Universe, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hansel and Gretel Elements, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Pining, Sanctum (The 100), Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/pseuds/Pawprinter
Summary: When Sanctum falls to starvation, it is up to Bellamy and Clarke to find a solution. They aren't prepared for the horrors beyond the Sanctum barrier.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Challenge Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1358866
Comments: 32
Kudos: 114
Collections: Chopped Madness





	simmer, simmer, simmer

**Author's Note:**

> the title of this fic is based off the song "Simmer" by Hayley Williams.
> 
> This fic is written for the Qualifying Round of Chopped Madness. Below are the things we were tasked with:  
> 1) Bellamy as a main character  
> 2) Canonverse  
> 3) Fairy Tale AU  
> 4) Write a villain as a good guy, or a good guy as a villain
> 
>  **Warnings:** there are mentions of blood/gore, injury, and (implications) cannibalism in this fic. [but keep in mind, this fic has less of that than canon-level!] also coarse language.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> NOTE: this fic was originally written and posted on April 16th. The word count was 5423 words. After voting for Chopped was over and this fic was revealed, I came back and edited it to the version you see below :)

People were starving.

Bellamy rubbed his eyes tiredly, trying to stop the headache forming behind his eyes. The headache had become a constant over the last few weeks, between the stress of trying to help rebuild a society and the shortage of food.

Sanctum was teetering on the edge of a disaster. The population was scared and hungry. Majority of their government had been overthrown, their religion burned, their beliefs torn down. The crops wilted without the farmers and the city was floundering. Even though Russell was leading beside them, people were losing hope.

They were doing their best to keep the peace, to lead the people towards a better future, to do better. 

_ They were trying. _

Sometimes, trying wasn’t good enough.

Finally, Bellamy understood a sliver of what Octavia must’ve gone through in the Second Dawn Bunker. No food, no life, no hope; it was a vicious cycle. Tensions were rising. People were suffering.

“We need a solution,” he said, glancing up from the papers Raven handed him earlier. Clarke lowered her paper across from him, her expression guarded. He knew her well enough to know she was trying to hide her horror at the news Raven delivered. “If this is true…”

“If it is true, then we need to do something now, and I have no doubts that it’s true.” She set down her papers and rested her forehead in her hand, her blonde hair spilling to conceal her face. 

Russell looked grim. “There’s enough food stored to last two more weeks, if that. People are growing restless. They’re scared.”

He understood that fear.  _ He was scared.  _ Out of all the battles they fought and all the death they avoided,  _ this  _ was how they were going to go out?

“What did you do when you first settled here?” Clarke pressed. “When you first arrived, you didn’t have any crops and you didn’t have any food stores. What did you do to feed your people?”

As Russell spoke about their first settlement, Bellamy read Raven’s words over and over. He was thankful the Sanctum leader was with them; thankful that he was on their side. The people would’ve truly been lost without him.

“—therefore, most of the food came from the ships. We had seeds from Earth, which we cultivated in greenhouses and planted in the next season. We never had to worry about crops not surviving.” Russell ran his fingers through his beard. “This has never been an issue for Sanctum before.”

“Great,” Bellamy muttered. “I’m so happy that our arrival not only murdered half the population through warfare, but we’re now murdering the other half through famine and starvation.”

Russell gave him a hard look. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Blake. That war has been brewing for hundreds of years and dozens of generations. And this — this…  _ famine,  _ as you called it, well—”

“It’s our fault. There’s no way around it.” Bellamy’s stomach twisted. He hated this. He hated being the villain. He hated being the bad guy in other peoples’ stories. “Fucking hell, this is—”

“Josephine,” Clarke said suddenly. Their eyes locked. “There’s something I remember from Josephine. During the first days on planet, on the day she was murdered.” Bellamy glanced at Russell out of the corner of his eye. Clarke continued. “She was surveying the planet’s resources. While you guys didn’t go ahead with the plan to use natural flora and fauna for food, she started that project and used her research for other studies.”

Russell pursed his lips and folded his hands together. “You’re… suggesting that we  _ harvest?  _ That we turn to an  _ uncivilized  _ society and  _ forage  _ for—”

“Foraging — hunting, gathering — doesn’t make people uncivilized.” Clarke’s gaze was hard. “The people are dying, Russell. This isn’t the time to be picky on how we get our food.”

Bellamy remained silent. Despite the alliance and friendship struck with Russell, tension was inevitable. Their people had gone to war. They were from two different worlds. Their joint leadership had its struggles.

“You misunderstand me,” he said, his tone holding some of that previous hostility. Clarke’s shoulders pulled back. Bellamy’s jaw tightened. “Outside the barrier is uncivilized.”

“We have a truce with the Children of Gabriel,” she said.

Russell smiled coldly. “I understand you are new here, Clarke, so I will explain this clearly. The Children of Gabriel are  _ not  _ the only ones outside of the barrier. For hundreds of years, we shoved people out of our society. Some joined with Gabriel. Others didn’t.” He spread his hands. “I do not know what happened to them. I only know that it is dangerous for more than just those reasons. We cannot leave—”

“If we don’t leave, we starve,” Bellamy cut in. “This is a large moon; there’s a chance we won’t encounter any hostiles. The same can’t be said for Sanctum. If we  _ don’t  _ go, we will die. The way I see it, we don’t have a choice.”

His gaze was drawn towards Clarke’s. The corners of her lips turned upwards. “No choice,” she said, her voice even. “An oxymoron.”

Bellamy had a very hard time stopping himself from smiling at that.

A wave of understanding passed between them. He was hit with the reminder of  _ just how much they had been through together. _

“Please,” Russell said, the heat gone from his voice. His expression was long and wary. “Beyond the barrier is dangerous. It’s filled with—”

“We’ve survived out there before,” Bellamy said. He turned his attention to Clarke. “Do you know the vegetation that’s edible?”

Her nose scrunched with thought. “I… I’ll know it when I see it. Besides, I know the location of it. Josie called it _Arachis_ _coachella,_ similar to nuts found on Earth. High in protein and energy, easily portable, good for long-term storage.”

That was good enough for Bellamy.

“Alright. We’ll set out in the morning.”

Clarke’s eyes widened.  _ “We?” _

Russell stood from his seat abruptly. “Absolutely not. You two are needed—”

“Yes,  _ we,  _ Clarke — as in both of us. You know the location and I know how to shoot a gun.”

“I know how to shoot, too, Bellamy.”

_ She wasn’t wrong.  _ He thought back to all those years ago to the bunker filled with guns. He remembered how he felt dizzy from being so close to her, how her body fit so  _ perfectly  _ next to his, how her wit made him ache with joy. He remembered teaching her how to shoot. He remembered her saving his life.

_ Lots had changed since then. _

One thing hadn’t changed since Earth; his burning need to  _ keep her safe.  _ If anything, his protectiveness only grew over the last few months. Watching someone you loved die right in front of you did that, or so it seemed.

Ever since that day at Gabriel’s camp — since the day he sobbed over her dead body, the day that he came inches to confessing his love for her — he struggled with leaving her side.  _ It was unhealthy — so fucking unhealthy — but he didn’t care.  _ He lost her once; he wasn’t going to allow that to happen again.

“I know you can shoot,” he said slowly, pointedly ignoring Russell. “But if Russell is right—”

“—I  _ am  _ right—”

“—then you’ll be needing more than one gun.” It was a logical explanation, but it wasn’t the truth. The reality of the situation was that he needed to go with her.  _ He needed to make sure she was safe.  _ He knew she was capable of doing it herself, but  _ fuck  _ the Lightbournes  _ fucked with his mind and _ —

“Do you two not know how to listen?” Russell hissed. “The forest is filled with criminals and murderers and people bent on revenge, and—”

“We’re going,” Clarke said crossly. Her expression softened after a moment. “It’s the only choice. We’re not putting anyone in danger except for ourselves.”

“The people need you.”

“The people need food,” Bellamy corrected.

Russell’s gaze was hard. Bellamy didn’t back down.  _ They were doing this.  _ After a long moment, the expression of Sanctum’s leader crumpled.

“Is there no way I can convince you—”

“No.”

It was only after Clarke had left the meeting room did Russell’s expression fall. He turned to Bellamy. No other word came to mind apart from  _ distraught.  _

Russell looked distraught.

“Bellamy…”  _ This was new.  _ This…  _ friendship  _ — if he could call it that. This  _ concern.  _ It made him feel as though the floor was being ripped from under him. “I can send guards. I can send—”

“We’ll be fine,” he said. This was something he needed to do. They were the ones that sparked this conflict, this food shortage, this unease. He needed to be the one to help fix it. He’d never forgive himself otherwise. “Just… take care of everyone here. We have people around to help, you know. Murphy, Echo, Raven, Emori; they’re good people — trustworthy.”

“Trust,” he echoed, a half-smile on his lips. “I trust I don’t need to remind you about trust, do I, Bellamy?” When he didn’t respond, he continued. “Don’t trust anything out there. Don’t trust  _ anyone.  _ Just each other.”

_ Each other. _

Bellamy’s heart constricted.

“Just each other,” he confirmed.

_ Just Clarke. _

* * *

Bellamy was not a fan of déjà vu.

As they walked through the foreign forest of Alpha, he couldn’t stop  _ staring  _ at Clarke. A few weeks ago, they were in a very similar position. They walked together, running from Sanctum, searching for an impossible hope. 

Except, it wasn’t Clarke. It was Josephine in Clarke’s body.

And, instead of easy banter and sharing stories, his previous trip outside the barrier was filled with high tensions and hostile words and heavy silence.

_ It wasn’t like that with Clarke. _

He was reminded of a simpler time, even though it was the most difficult months of his life at the time.  _ The dropship.  _ During the long hikes, he thought of those first few months on the ground. He thought of how  _ young  _ they were and how  _ naive.  _ He thought about how much had changed since then; how he loathed her before he understood her.

_ Now,  _ he couldn’t imagine life without her.

Bellamy didn’t know when it changed. Was it when he left her on Earth to die? Was it when he saw her sink a knife into Atom’s neck? Was it when he held her hand as she took the Flame?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t give a fuck.

All he knew was that he loved her. He loved her heart, and her soul, and her mind, and  _ every inch of her.  _

He thought these feelings died alongside his hope during those five years on the Ark, but he was wrong —  _ so fucking wrong. _

He loved her.

He loved her and he couldn’t fucking tell her.

* * *

On the second night, Bellamy fell to the ground, his legs too tired to hold him up for a second longer. The sky glittered with stars, showing constellations he was unfamiliar with. He missed the stars from Earth more than he realized he did. He missed the familiarity of the Roman and Greek stories and myths that went hand in hand with the constellations.

“Fuck,” Clarke breathed, falling to the ground beside him. He was acutely aware of just how close they were. If he wanted to, he could stretch his arm and brush against her hand.

_ He didn’t. _

His arms remained locked at his sides. His eyes remained glued to the sky. His heart ached in his chest.

“We’re making good progress,” she said after a long moment. “Josephine’s memories… I remember this vegetation.”

Bellamy stretched above his head, feeling his joints pop. He was sore and exhausted. He wished they could’ve used some of the motorbikes from Sanctum, even though riding it through the root-covered terrain would’ve been hell. It would’ve made this journey easier and quicker. The faster they got back, the less people would suffer, and  _ that was what he wanted — needed. _

“You’re worried,” she said after a long moment.

_ She always could read him well. _

“I’m not.”

“You’re thinking about something.” Bellamy didn’t dare look at her, even though he could feel her gaze settled on him. “I can tell.”

“I’m always thinking,” he mumbled. “I’m pretty sure that’s how brains work. Although, I’m not a doctor, so—”

She knocked her boot against his and snorted. “You’re an ass, Bellamy.” 

His chest constricted with the light banter. Everything came so naturally, so easily, and  _ he missed it.  _ Regaining this connection — regaining these moments — made his chest feel like it was caving in.

Clarke broke the silence again. “We should only be gone for a few more days.”

“I know.” They likely had two more days of walking to reach the nut-like food Clarke described, a day for gathering and packing, then four days to walk back to—

“I know you’re probably worried about them,” she added, her voice tight and thick. “You’ll be back with them soon.”

Bellamy’s gaze flicked towards Clarke. Her face was like stone; he couldn’t get a read on her.  _ He hated it.  _ Her eyes were locked firmly on the stars above them, her shoulders tensed, her lips thin.

He was tempted to reach out and take her hand again.

He didn’t.

“I’m glad I’m with you,” he said. Her gaze met his. His heart raced. His mouth ran dry. “I… Sure. I’m worried about the others, just like you are. They’re our people — our family.” He forced his gaze away from hers. “We’re doing this for them.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

“Right.” Clarke looked away. “I just… You could’ve asked them to come.”  _ He could’ve.  _ But he didn’t. He didn’t want to put more people in unnecessary danger. They were capable of doing this alone. “Or… Echo? You could’ve asked Echo to come?”

Bellamy’s heart fell to his stomach. His throat grew tight. His hands grew clammy.

_ Echo. _

“We’re— I’m— She’s—” Bellamy’s nails dug into his palm. “We broke up.”

“Oh.” Clarke grew still. “I’m sorry.”

“It was mutual.” He cared about her, he always would — she was family, after all — but he didn’t love her the way he thought he did. Neither did she. Too much had changed. Too much happened.

“Still, that’s shitty. I’m sorry.” Clarke blew out a long breath. “You never told me.”

_ He never told her because he didn’t know where to start. _

It was the same old fucking story; he didn’t know where to start. 

He didn’t know how to bring up the five years they spent apart and how the thought of her being dead destroyed him. He didn’t know how to tell her that he mourned her for years, that he clung to hope that she was still alive despite all odds, that he spent more nights awake with her on his mind than he did asleep. 

He didn’t know how to tell her that he was willing to rip Sanctum down, brick by brick, for what the Primes did to her. 

He didn’t know how to tell her that he couldn’t imagine life without her.

_ He didn’t know how to tell her that he loved her. _

“Yeah,” he said, his voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

A heavy silence settled over them — a silence that Bellamy was desperate to break after only a few minutes. When he thought she was dead —  _ when she was actually dead  _ — he had so many regrets. There had been so much he wanted to say, so much that he regretted not telling her.

_ Yet, now that she was beside him, he remained silent. _

Too scared to take a step, too scared that too much would change, too scared that he’d lose this.

_ Lose her. _

When he next spoke, he struggled to keep his voice even.

“I never thought I’d say it, but I miss Earth.” Clarke’s eyes snapped to his, her brow furrowed in confusion and her lips parted the slightest bit. “These stars are fucking weird.”

At that, the confusion melted from her features. Her head fell back to the ground and she let out a breathless laugh, one that made his heart skip a beat.

“Fuck,” she breathed, shaking her head. Bellamy watched as her expression shifted; from one of confusion, to one of relief and amusement, to one of contemplation. Even after all this time, he could read her like an open book when she wasn’t hiding behind masks. “Nothing is  _ right  _ on this planet. The sky is a constant reminder of that. Even when I can pretend we’re all back on Earth, all I have to do is look to the sky and remember this is not home.”

“Home,” Bellamy muttered. 

He had done a lot of thinking about what  _ home  _ was over the last few years. It wasn’t the cramped room he grew up in; it wasn’t the dropship, a community which he helped build; it wasn’t Arkadia; it wasn’t the Ark, since he always considered the Ring a temporary place; and it sure as hell wasn’t Sanctum.

_ Home  _ was his family — his  _ people. _

He guessed Clarke would have a different view on home. What did she consider to be her home? Was in the Ark, reminiscent of the place she grew up in? Was it Polis? Was it Shadow Valley, a place where she built a family and a future?

He didn’t know.

_ He didn’t know a lot of things about her anymore.  _

That was one thing; despite not knowing the details in her life, he still  _ knew _ her.

“That was one thing that kept me sane,” she spoke again, breaking the silence, “when you guys were gone. I’d look at the stars and find comfort with the fact they don’t change. They’re constant and we are insignificant. No matter how much I fucked up — no matter how much humanity fucked up — the stars would always be there. It was comforting.”

Bellamy didn’t stop himself this time.

He closed the distance between them, his hand brushing lightly against hers. Her fingers curled against his, pulling his palm flush against hers.

_ It felt right. _

“I always liked the stars on Earth,” he mumbled, not speaking too loudly, afraid that he’d break the tenderness of the moment. “Before the world ended, humans would look at the stars and see constellations and tell stories.”

“Mythology,” Clarke recalled. “You used to tell Octavia the stories, didn’t you?” 

His chest warmed and he nodded in confirmation. “The stars were comforting to me too. When kids were dying, or when we were caught in wars, or when the world seemed to be falling apart, I’d look at the sky and I’d feel better.” He laughed dryly. “It’s stupid.”

“It isn’t.”

“It feels like it.”

“It’s just me.” Their gazes were drawn together, like two magnets being pulled together. Bellamy’s throat constricted. “It’s  _ me.  _ You could tell me anything. You’d never sound stupid.”

_ And, so, he told her. _

He told her about the stars on Earth, and how he’d remember easier days when he looked at them, how he’d remember the Roman myths that came with the stars, how he’d remember telling those same stories to Octavia when the days and nights bled together.

Those stars were gone; a piece of their reality they left behind with Earth.

Just as Clarke no longer found comfort in the sky, neither did he.

“Sanctum has their own mythology,” she said once he was done talking. Her nose wrinkled. “They’re pretty shitty stories though. Very egotistic.”

Bellamy laughed. “I’m not surprised. They built themselves up to be gods. The Twelve Primes, the Twelve Olympians.” He rolled his eyes. It was disgusting, how this group of scientists pretended to be immortal, how they viewed themselves higher than anyone else, how they lied to their people. _Curiosity got the best of him._ “You know them because of Josephine?” She nodded. “Any good ones?”

“Good ones?”

“Are there any good myths?” he clarified.

“Not unless you count the  _ fascinating  _ tale of how Josephine Prime, Hallowed be her Name, discovered the berry used to make Jo Juice and Joberry Pie.” Clarke glanced at him, the corners of her lips turned upwards. “I’m very sure Josephine actually travelled to Planet Bel and brought back these berries for her people. I’m sure the mythology on that one is  _ very  _ true.”

Bellamy laughed and turned to the stars. “Where is the constellation for that one?”

Using their joined hands, Clarke pointed to a section of the sky to their left, towards a cluster of stars. “There. You see? Her hands are holding the berries.”

“No, that looks like  _ two  _ hands, like—”

_ —like us. _

He glanced towards their intertwined hands, suddenly speechless.

He cleared his throat.

“It doesn’t look like that,” he concluded.

Clarke moved their hands so they were pointing closer towards the horizon. “That’s another constellation. It’s the Kepa-She, the snake used to heal Murphy.”

“No, that’s  _ not  _ a snake,” Bellamy argued, “it’s so short.”

“It’s coiled up.”

“It looks like it is part of Floukru’s symbol.” He nodded to himself. “Yeah. Yeah, those stars will be for Floukru.” He moved their hands to point towards another cluster of stars. “That kind of looks like the Skaikru symbol.”

It was Clarke’s turn to drag their hands across the sky. “This is for Trikru then.”

“And this…” Their hands pointed towards a set of bright stars.  _ “This  _ is an important constellation.”

“Is it?”

“The head and the heart.” He had to squint to see it, but he saw shittier Roman constellations before. Maybe he was a hypocrite; he ripped the Primes down for immortalizing themselves in the stars and through mythology, yet here he was, doing the same.

“The head and the heart,” Clarke echoed. She brought their hands back to the first constellation — the one Bellamy thought was two hands. “Does that make this constellation the head and the heart too?”

He swallowed thickly.

“Truth is,” he said, “I think this whole sky is  _ filled  _ with stories about the head — about you.”

“It can be filled with stories about us.  _ All  _ of us.” Her eyes scanned the sky, her smile more free and genuine than before. “We aren’t on Earth anymore. This is a different sky. We might as well fill it with stories about all of us. I want to look at it and think of us, not of the people that killed me.”

_ And that was it.  _ That was all Bellamy needed to hear.

That night, they started filling the sky with stories. 

They didn’t stop until the sky was growing light and the stars were fading.

* * *

On the fourth night, Bellamy woke up to screaming.

Automatically, his hand flew to his side, instinctually reaching for Clarke.

_ Nothing. _

He bolted upright, his heart pounding in his chest. The rush of the blood through his ears made the world quiet to a hush around him. His mind grew fuzzy. His cries caught in his throat.

_ “Bellamy!” _

He was moving before he could think about it.

“Clarke!”

His legs were wobbly beneath him. He stumbled on a dead tree-branch. The ground was slippery below his shoes. The air was cold — too cold — burning its way through his lungs. It was dark —  _ too dark  _ — seemingly sucking all the light from the world around them.

A nightmare.

_ This was straight out of a nightmare. _

“Bellamy!” Her voice was frantic, more frantic than he had heard in a long time.

He spun in the direction her voice came from.  _ Why was she so far away?  _ The air was pressing down on him, suffocating him.

The forest blurred around him. His overworked muscles  _ ached  _ underneath him. His heart pounded. His breathing came out in gasps. His mind clouded with panic.

_ Not again. _

_ He wasn’t losing her again. _

When he saw her, he pumped his legs harder. His heart lurched. His body felt numb. Clarke was several yards away, barely distinguishable amongst the dark vines. Her hair was obvious amongst the darkness, like a light in the dark, a beacon pulling him in.

She was screaming.  _ Pain.  _ She was in pain. He could hear it. He could almost  _ feel  _ it — deep within him, as if he was connected with her; his heart  _ hurt,  _ his body  _ ached. _

_ Fuck. _

He skidded to his knees in front of her, unable to breathe, unable to think. Closer now, he could see what was happening — he could see what she was screaming about. Vines as dark as the night sky were wrapped around her limbs and—

They were under her skin, reminding him of the worms from their last trip to Earth. This plant was snaking its way into her body, forcing its way under her skin. Black blood oozed from the punctures, dripping across her pale skin.

“Bell— Bell— Bell—” Her voice was weak and hollow, chanting his name rhythmically. Her breathing was too fast. There was so much blood —  _ too much blood.  _ Her eyes locked onto his. Panicked. Wide. Scared.

_ He was scared too. _

His hands hovered above her for a long second, too unsure of what to do. 

“Please,” she said, her voice hitching with a sob. “Bellamy,  _ please.  _ Please, please, please, pl—”

_ Fuck it. _

He reached for her without another moment of hesitation. As soon as his fingertips brushed against her skin, her screaming intensified. Her back arched off the ground. Her body shook with sobs.

Bellamy withdrew his hand as if he had been burned.

His mind refused to work. All he could do was stare in horror.

“Bellamy,” she sobbed. Her cheeks were shining with tears. Her lips wobbled. “Bell— Bellamy,  _ please.” _

He didn’t know what she was begging for.

_ He didn’t know if he wanted to know. _

“It’s okay,” he promised her, unable to think of anything else to say.  _ Liar.  _ “You’re okay. Just— Just— It’s okay, Clarke. You’re okay.” His hand fumbled with the radio attached to his hip. The metal was shockingly cool to his system. His lips brushed against the front. “Sanctum, come in.”

“Bellamy—”

“I know.” Every fibre of his being was telling him to reach for her, to hold her, to comfort her. He knew it would only make this worse. He pressed the button of the radio again. “Sanctum,  _ come the fuck in.  _ Russell — fuck. Russell, we need you. We need—”

“Bellamy?” The voice on the other end was crackled with static, but clearly Russell. Bellamy’s heart flew to his throat. “Bellamy, what’s going on?”

“Vines. Clarke.” He stumbled over his words. His body shook with adrenaline. “Russell, vines are  _ in  _ her. They’re—”

“Shit.”

_ That wasn’t reassuring. _

“How do I get them out?” His heart broke watching Clarke, watching her suffer — watching her in pain. It was his own personal form of hell. “Russell,” he growled. “Now!”

“Sunlight,” he answered quickly. “Light — it drives them away, back into the ground.”  _ Perfect.  _ Bellamy was already setting down the radio and reaching to his belt for his flashlight when— “But, wait,  _ Bellamy.  _ It doesn’t like light and will hide from it. If you catch it in time, they’ll return to the ground. If you don’t…”

_ They’ll go further into her body. _

Bellamy froze.

_ Fuck. _

He didn’t know what to do. Time was slipping between his fingers faster than grains of sand. Her life —  _ Clarke’s life  _ — was slipping through his fingers.

_ Again. _

_ Fucking again. _

He couldn’t lose her.

“Bellamy,” Clarke rasped, her eyes locking on his.  _ “Bellamy.”  _ She reached for him, screaming through her clenched teeth. “Bellamy,  _ do it.  _ Do— Do it. Do—”

He flicked on his flashlight.

She screamed.

* * *

Bellamy decided this was a much worse fate than starvation.

Clarke’s unconscious body was in his arms. His shoulders ached from the added weight. He felt detached from his limbs, adrenaline still coursing through his system.

The vines had fled as soon as his flashlight was turned on, the majority returned to the ground. The pain caused her to fall unconscious.

Time was too precious to stop and think, to stop and breathe. As soon as she was free from the vines, he pulled her into his arms and  _ ran.  _ The adrenaline in his veins propelled him forward, carrying both of them away from the danger — away from death.

_ Away from the radio he abandoned near the vines. _

_ Away from their weapons he left near their camp. _

When he realized both of these things, he was briefly tempted to turn back. One glance at the wounds scattered across Clarke’s body changed his mind quickly.  _ She needed help.  _ Everything else could wait. He needed to get her help, he needed to get her medical attention, he needed to—

He was pulled from his thoughts when she shifted in his arms. His grip tightened on her momentarily. His heart raced.

“Clarke?”

_ This was too familiar.  _ Not too long ago, he was holding her in his arms, begging her to come back to him, begging her to wake up. Not too long ago, he failed her, he  _ lost  _ her, he—

_ No. No, no, no, no.  _ Not now. He couldn’t think of that now.

She stirred again. Her eyes fluttered. Her expression pulled tight.

“It’s okay,” he breathed. He shifted his hold on her and lowered her to the ground. “You’re okay.” His throat was tight. His eyes burned with unshed tears.

This was another thing he didn’t have time for.

_ Tears. _

No time for this. No time for emotion. No time for  _ feeling,  _ for  _ regrets,  _ for  _ fear. _

“Mm.” She groaned and gripped the front of his shirt. With his newly freed hand, he brushed her blood stained hair away from her face. “Bellamy?” Her voice was hoarse from what he assumed was her screaming, but it was so distinctly her.  _ She was okay. _

He had to bite his cheek to keep from sobbing.

“I’m here,” he promised her. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

Her eyes opened and his chest nearly caved in. He had been so scared, so worried, so  _ sure  _ that she wasn’t going to wake up, that she wasn’t going to be okay.

“Ow,” she mumbled, wincing. She tried to move her arm, but grimaced. He gently took hold of her wrist, searching for her pulse. It was racing. “Fuck. What— what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Which was the truth. He had no idea how she got in the vines, he didn’t know what the vines were, he didn’t know  _ anything.  _ The only thing he did know was that she was hurting and needed help. “We need to get help. You’re hurt.”

She grimaced and tried to sit up. “I’m not. I’m  _ fine.  _ We need food, Bellamy, we need to—”

He wasn’t listening. He knew Clarke would try to fight through the pain, but he  _ saw her.  _ He saw her on the ground, screaming, crying. He saw vines  _ in her.  _ She wasn’t going to convince him that she was fine when she was so clearly not.

“Screw that,” he said, his voice harsher than he meant. “Clarke, you’re hurt. We’re getting you help.”

“But—”

His eyes locked onto hers.  _ “Enough.” _ He clenched his jaw and forced his emotions down. “I fucking care about you, Clarke. I care more about making sure you stay alive than finding food right now. Alright?”

“But— We have a responsibility to—”

“I have a responsibility to the people I love,” he said. Their gaze locked. “And _ I love you,  _ Clarke. Screw everyone else right now. I’m worried about  _ you.”  _ His throat tightened. His heart clenched. A wave of anguish enveloped him, like a wave crashing against the shore. “I… I  _ lost  _ you, Clarke.  _ I lost you.  _ I—” He choked on his words. “I’m not doing that again.  _ I can’t.  _ Not again.”

Her mouth opened the slightest bit. Her expression morphed with shock. “Bellamy—”

“Please,” he begged. “Please don’t ask me not to do this.  _ I need to do this.  _ I— I need you alive. I need  _ you.” _

He was brought back to that night in Gabriel’s, when he was pounding on her chest, when Octavia was telling him there was no hope. He told her that he needed her then, too. He told her that he wasn’t letting her go.

_ He couldn’t. _

Clarke’s fists curled against his chest. Her chin lifted with determination. “Alright.” 

Bellamy looked away from her, turning to scan the horizon. Directly in his line of sight was a column of black smoke. 

_ Smoke meant life and life meant keeping Clarke safe. _

He was taking a risk. 

He thought back to Russell’s words from mere days ago.  _ “The forest is filled with criminals and murderers and people bent on revenge. Don’t trust anything out there. Don’t trust anyone.”  _ Yet, here he was, about to beg for the help of a stranger.

It was risky, but necessary. 

Clarke needed medical help and he was willing to risk anything to keep her safe. 

He wasn’t losing her. 

Not again.

* * *

Before the house came into view, Bellamy used the small pocket knife attached to his belt to prick his finger and press it on Clarke’s forehead. He hoped whoever this was would attribute Clarke’s black blood to being mud.

_ It was too similar to a few weeks ago, when he did this exact motion with Josephine. _

“We don’t know who lives here,” he explained as he acted. “I doubt it’ll be someone who follows the Primes.” If he had to guess, he thought the person who owned this house would be anti-Nightblood, as it was Nightblood who shunned them and pushed them from society.

The house, if he could even call it that, was small and falling apart. It was made of moss-covered stone and mouldy wood. The structure was slanted to the side, as if the ground below began to swallow it whole.

As soon as he set eyes on it, his muscles grew tight and a chill swept over him. Something was wrong. Maybe it was the darkness that clung to the house — the same darkness that clung to the forest when the vines crawled under Clarke’s skin.

Once again, he was reminded of the words he shared with Clarke many years ago.

_ No choice. _

They had no choice but to move forward.

As he knocked on the door, he lowered Clarke to stand beside him. He could feel her tense in pain as she moved. Her body shook with the exertion. 

The woman who lived in the house was older than anyone Bellamy ever saw. Life expectancy on the Ark was never very high due to the conditions and life expectancy on the ground was even worse due to the never ending violence.

“Do you have medicine?” Bellamy asked, his voice sounding desperate, even to him. “Please.”

The old woman’s eyes turned to his, the corners crinkling with a smile. In that moment, he felt more vulnerable than he should’ve. It felt as if her eyes could see into his soul — as if her eyes could read every one of his thoughts.

He looked away.

“She needs rest. She needs warmth. She needs safety. She needs food. She does not need medicine. There is no medicine to cure this.”

Clarke shifted beside him and his arms tightened around her waist. While she’d never admit it, he could tell she was exhausted and in pain from just standing.

His eyes swept across the interior of the house behind the old woman. It was simple enough, only containing a single couch and a fireplace. A large black cauldron rested in the flames, a broth boiling over the rim.

_ Food. _

He had to look away. That was something he hadn’t had the luxury of thinking of in a long time.

“You are welcome to stay as long as you need.” She stepped to the side and beckoned them inside.

Bellamy should’ve listened to his gut.

He should’ve walked away.

_ He didn’t. _

* * *

The woman didn’t hover.

Bellamy helped Clarke over to the couch against the wall, his gaze darting between being locked on her and examining their environment for threats. His spine prickled, as if he was being watched, but the room was empty. He was left feeling heavy and unsettled.

Clarke winced once her body touched the cushions below her. Bellamy pulled his hands back, afraid that his touch would add to her pain.

He felt helpless.

Someone he loved was suffering right in front of him, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He wished he could take her pain away. He wished that he could share this burden with her, that she didn’t have to suffer alone.

Bellamy sunk to his knees in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers. His chest ached. His words stuck in his throat.

_ So, they looked at each other. _

Clarke’s eyes were glassy, but remained on his. They studied each other, the only sound coming from their even breaths, the tension between them growing.

With a moment to breathe, everything came rushing back to him. The fear that gripped his heart, the desperation that made his heart stop, the horror that made his head spin.

_ He almost lost her. _

_ Again. _

How many times had he felt this way, like their fates were designed for tragedy. How many times did he have to lose her?

“Bellamy,” Clarke breathed. Her hands moved from her lap, reaching towards him. He met her touch halfway, his grip feather light. “I’m not broken. You can touch me.”

_ I know you’re not broken,  _ he wanted to say.  _ You’re the strongest person I know. _

The words remained in his throat, his mouth unresponsive, his thoughts moving too fast to make sense of them. Between the chaos of his mind and the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, he managed to pick out three words.  _ Three fucking dumb words. _

“Are you okay?”

_ He knew she wasn’t.  _ He could see the pain written across her body; from the way her lips pinched, to the way her shoulders were hunched, to the way her fingers shook against his.

“I’m fine.” He gave her a look, one that told her that he knew she was lying. “I’m okay, Bellamy. Really.”

He leaned forward, bringing their joined hands to ghost along his lips. “It’s me,” he said, echoing her words from the night before. “It’s  _ me.” _

_ You can tell me anything. _

_ I will listen. _

_ You can fall. _

_ I will catch you. _

Her expression crumpled at that, slowly at first, and then all at once. Her jaw tightened. Her lips quivered. Her eyes watered.

_ It took everything in him not to mirror her in that moment,  _ to not fall apart alongside her.

“Bellamy,” she said, her voice cracking. “I was so scared.  _ So fucking scared.  _ I was so sure that I was too far away, so sure that you couldn’t hear me. And— And I couldn’t get to my gun, and—”

Clarke immediately fell silent as the woman re-entered the room, a basin of freshly boiled water and washcloths in her hands. She studied Clarke, her gaze calculating and  _ empty.  _ Bellamy stood and shifted to block her view, his heart hammering with her sudden appearance.

“Thank you,” he said quickly, stepping forward to take the basin from her. Her gaze went through him, as if he were a ghost.  _ She was looking for Clarke.  _ A swell of protectiveness hit him. “We appreciate your hospitality and don’t want to overstay. As soon as we’re clean, we’ll head out, and—”

“Oh, no, dear.” The woman’s smile chilled him. He craved the feeling of his gun in his hands in that moment. “It is dangerous at night in the forest.”

“We’ve handled worse.”

The woman peered around Bellamy, her eyebrows lifting with amusement. “Yes, I can see that you’ve  _ handled  _ the Venus Hunger.” Her gaze settled on him again. “Please, stay for a while, dear. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you left and something happened to you.” Her fingers were as cold as ice when they grazed the backs of Bellamy’s hands. “Besides, your girlfriend needs to rest, she needs time to heal.”

_ Clarke.  _ He was acutely aware of her behind him. The woman was right; she was in pain, she needed to rest. He didn’t doubt for a second that she possessed more strength than he did, but he couldn’t imagine her being able to continue on their mission, not like this.

_ Rest.  _ She needed to rest.

Before waiting for a response, the woman turned and continued back towards the other room, leaving them once again.

Bellamy stood for a moment, his eyes locked on the swinging door, before turning to Clarke. The intensity of her expression stole the breath from his lungs. Her eyes were cold, her jaw locked, her shoulders set. She looked like a predator, waiting for a moment to lunge.

He had to stop himself from staring.

She lifted her eyebrow. That was all he needed to know what she was thinking.

“Something’s off,” he said, his voice low. Bellamy crouched in front of Clarke once again, the basin in his hands. Neither of them moved to take the cloth. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

If he didn’t know her so well, he would’ve missed her nod. They locked eyes. “We can leave.”

Bellamy was tempted to say yes. He was tempted to go with his gut feeling. He was tempted to pull Clarke to his side and run until the sun rose.

_ But he looked at her, truly looked at her. _

Her eyes were sunken and barely staying open. Her hair was damp with sweat. Her skin was covered with dry blood. One particularly bad wound on her forearm caused a snake of black blood to run up to her elbow. She was exhausted and hurt and—

“She’s right. We need to rest.” Bellamy hoped he was making the right decision. “Tomorrow morning, at first light, we’re leaving. That’s five hours away.”

She hesitated.

“Five hours.”

* * *

Clarke placed the washcloth in the basin for the last time, turning the water cloudy. Without the dried blood covering her body, she looked better — healthier. Her hands shook as she moved to grab the final piece of clean cloth.

“Here,” Bellamy said, moving to take the make-shift bandage from her hands. “Let me help.”

She stretched her arm with the largest wound towards him, wincing with the movement. Bellamy shifted closer, his heart racing in his chest, and got to work at wrapping the fabric around her forearm. His touch was feather light and filled with as much tenderness he could muster. 

They were impossibly close. Their legs pressed together as he worked. He felt her soft and even breaths ghost against the back of his hand. The heat from her body bled between them, making his heart race, making his spine prickle. 

As he was finishing the wrap, her free hand pressed to the top of his, stilling him. Her touch seemed to quiet the world. He glanced away from the task and his breath caught in his throat when he realized  _ just how close their faces were. _

For a brief moment, he was tempted to kiss her.

_ He didn’t. _

“Bellamy,” she whispered, as if she was sharing a secret with him. “I love you, too.”

It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about — that she was responding to his comments filled with desperation earlier.

_ I love you,  _ he wanted to say.

_ I am in love with you. _

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her everything; to come clean, to take the leap.

The words stuck in his throat.

* * *

Running.

_ Running, running, running. _

This was all he knew, it seemed.

The whip of the branches against his skin. The pounding of his feet against the ground. The sharp pain below his ribs, a stitch forming from his panic. The sweat trickling down his back, clinging to his shirt. The rapid beat of his heart.

He should’ve been used to it by now; the cold grip of fear on his heart — the fear that came with the prospect of losing Clarke.

_ He thought she was fine. _

She was fine.  _ She was fucking fine. _

And then she wasn’t.

_ ‘Bellamy,’ she whispered, as if she was sharing a secret with him. ‘I love you, too.’ _

He regretted not saying more. He regretted not not telling her that  _ he loved her so much more than that, that he was in love with her. _

He didn’t.

_ And now she was dying. _

She woke up minutes before, the moon high in the sky. Sweat lined her brow. Her eyes were unfocused. Her pulse raced.

_ ‘The vines,’ the woman told him, ‘are sometimes filled with a poison.’ _

Bellamy was tempted to scream about how that would’ve been helpful information earlier. But, if he learned one thing through his life, it was the fact that  _ he couldn’t change anything.  _ What was done was done and now—

Now he had to find the antidote.

_ Blue flowers with yellow middles. Blue flowers with— _

He raced forward, running faster than he ever had before. Panic engulfed him like a ship in a storm. His thoughts had long abandoned him.

_ Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. _

He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t—

_ Blue flowers with yellow middles. Blue flowers with— _

Bellamy’s foot hooked around a root. His momentum propelled him forward. His hands flew out to brace against the ground. His shoulder collided with the ground, sending a sharp pain up through his bicep and down his back, stealing all his breath.

“Fuck!”

He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time to fall. He didn’t have time to—

Bellamy froze.

He blinked, his gaze set straight ahead.

Inches away from his face—

In front of him—

On top of a fallen tree trunk—

A skull.

_ A human skull. _

Bellamy recoiled sharply, his stomach twisting. Frantically, he looked around, his heart pounding in his chest, panic making the world silent, his fear making him feel  _ sick,  _ making him—

He had fallen between two trees.

_ He had fallen into a dumping ground of human bones. _

A mass grave.

_ This was a mass grave. _

Bellamy sat, too shocked to move. As the seconds ticked by, he grew more aware of his surroundings; more aware of the smooth bones under his legs, of the jab of a  _ human fucking bone  _ into his own ribs, the sick crunch from under his foot that he heard moments before he fell, off—

Horror swept over him as he put the pieces together. 

Bellamy thought of the giant cauldron over the fire, and the woman’s insistence for them to stay the night, and the sudden turn of Clarke’s condition; how she went from fine to barely conscious. He thought of why the woman never told him of the vine’s poison in the first place, and — finally—

_ — he thought of the massive amount of human remains in the woods behind her cabin. _

For a long moment, Bellamy sat frozen, unable to do anything, unable to think. The world stopped spinning. 

Only one thought lingered in his mind.

_ Clarke. _

* * *

He couldn’t sense the vile actions that were going on within the house — not during his quick approach. Bellamy thought the house should look different, now that he knew the woman inside wasn’t as friendly as they were led to believe. 

_ But it didn’t. _

The structure still leaned to one side in an almost endearing way. The windows fogged, as if those living inside were baking something sweet. The smoke spilled from the chimney at a constant rate; an action that would’ve seemed soothing in any other situation.

He wanted to look at the house and see skulls, warning him for what was to come. He wanted to feel a shock roll up his spine. He wanted the trees to shake, as if they were horrified by the crimes committed within.

They didn’t.

The world seemed calm.

It made Bellamy race harder.

He pushed the door with so much force that it smacked against the opposite wall. His chest heaved with each breath. His eyes were wild. 

“Clarke!?” he called, his gaze sweeping across the room.

_ Silence. _

His blood rushed through his veins, causing the world to quiet to a hush. He could feel each individual beat of his heart — they felt like they could crack his ribs at any moment. His head throbbed.

She wasn’t where he left her, on the couch. Her blanket was there, in a tangled heap at the edge, and so was a damp cloth. 

_ And so was a fresh black stain. _

His blood froze. His veins turned to ice. His heart must’ve stopped beating completely.

He stared at the spot for a long moment, his thoughts sluggish.

_ Blood. _

_ Fresh blood. _

Bellamy took a half-step forward, panic making him feel like he was floating free of his body.

“Clar-“

A sharp pain erupted from the back of his head.

His knees buckled under him.

The wooden floor was warm under his cheek.

The darkness was inviting.

* * *

“Clarke.”

Her name fell from his lips without much thought. She was the first thing on his mind — a thought he had, even before he thought of the pounding headache along the back of his skull, or the warmth he felt across his body, or the racing pulse against his neck.

Those were all things to follow.

Bellamy sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes flew open.

He was met with silence and darkness.

Bellamy’s breathing turned heavy and laboured as panic descended. He tried to keep his heart rate down, he tried to grasp at the final strings of serenity, but  _ he failed.  _ He was slipping, faster and faster and—

He couldn’t move.

It was a startling realization to make. 

He jolted forward, intending to get up from where he was laying down, and— 

Nothing.

_ His body didn’t respond. _

A new type of fear wormed its way into his veins, curling around him like poison. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—

_ Poison. _

The thought hit him as solidly and suddenly as whatever was used to knock him unconscious.

He was poisoned.

He wasn’t a stranger to this type of death. Poison was something he had played with far too often. Maybe this was its way of biting him back. Finally, the circle was being completed.

The distance from his body, the heaviness of his limbs, the race of his pulse, the fever he could feel burning through his veins. It wasn’t from panic.

He had been poisoned.

Again, his thoughts jumped to—

“Clarke.”

His throat was thick and his mouth unresponsive. He was sluggish and tired. His words cracked. 

Again, he opened his mouth to call out to her, but—

“You were faster than I estimated.”

A chill ran up his spine, even though there was nothing particularly sinister about the voice. It was the fact he knew what this woman did — that he knew what this woman  _ ate — _ that made his spine prickle. 

The longer he was awake, the more he could see. He wasn’t in a pitch black room like he thought. The room was dark, yes, but he could see the stars and he could see smoke.

There were a million things he should’ve been thinking of in that moment, but all he could think about was those stupid fucking stars.

“I should’ve realized you would be faster than…  _ others,”  _ the woman continued. He mustered what strength he could to turn his head to the side. He could see flames flickering across the room, fire licking up the side of the large black cauldron from earlier. Bellamy’s chest grew heavy. “You were suspicious from the start and so dedicated to that Prime you’re in love with.”

Bellamy’s arm inched forward. His fingers curled over the edge of something. A table? He was laying on a table?

“Fuck you,” he spat, his words coming out to make the threat sound like child’s play. He pulled himself closer to the edge of the table. “I’ll—“ The room spun. He wet his lips and tried again. “I’ll—“

He wanted to flinch away as the woman drew closer, but he couldn’t move. His eyes widened in horror, his heart thundered, his head spun, but—

Her hand ran through his curls, her fingers warm and damp. Bellamy tried to keep his mind from running, tried to keep his thoughts from spiralling, tried to—

“Save your strength,” she told him, her lips curling up. “The sap from the Red Twilight is a slow death, unfortunately for you. The results are—“

He pushed off the table, using his remaining strength to shove the woman backwards. 

His legs couldn’t support him. He crashed to the floor again, gasping and shivering. The woman was quick to grip his chin and force his eyes to hers. 

“Don’t fight,” she commanded, her voice harder than before. “You must’ve seen the forest. You know this is inevitable.”

Bellamy’s fingers grasped at air. His arms refused to respond to his commands. Sweat ran down his temple. 

“What— What did you do?” he gasped. “I don’t— I didn’t—“

_ The vines,  _ he wanted to say.  _ I didn’t touch the vines. How am I poisoned? _

He must’ve formed a sentence coherent enough, as the woman’s fingers tightened on his chin. Her breath washed across his face. 

“It isn’t the Venus Hunger that’s poisonous,” she hissed.

Bellamy’s head lulled back against the table, his heart pounding and his body burning. He watched in horror, unable to move, as the woman stepped away from him and returned to her spot beside the roaring fireplace. 

If the vines weren’t poisonous, then—

—then that meant it was something she gave them. Was it in the water she shoved into their hands? Was it embedded in the cloth she gave them to wrap their wounds?

It didn’t matter.

The damage was done.

He remained in the floor gasping, his thoughts racing, until—

—a shuffle.

It was a scuff of a shoe on the ground. It was unmistakable. He was sure of it.

_ Except— _

The woman wasn’t wearing shoes. 

Bellamy swallowed thickly. His eyes were heavy —  _ so fucking heavy —  _ but he forced his state to move, forced himself to stay alert.

Just when he was going to give up — going to let his eyes slide shut — he heard it again.

_ And the woman heard it too.  _

She stopped chopping and lifted her head, the knife still clutched in her hands. Her body had grown still and rigid. 

_ They waited. _

Bellamy was sick of playing her game.

He didn’t dare hope, because Hope was a dangerous game. Instead, he settled on stalling — stalling until the truth revealed itself, until he managed to get to Clarke and get out.

“I-“ He swallowed and tried again. “I will kill you.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Bellamy hated that he couldn’t barely get the words out. The world was spinning too quickly. His heart was pounding too fast.

“You- You don’t have to kill us. You don’t.” He desperately tried to keep his eyes focused. “You’re surrounded by resources. We can help. We can tell you-“

“You can’t tell me anything I don’t already know. You’re  _ children.  _ I’ve lived here for decades.” She returned for her cooking, her lips pulled into a scowl.

“Is that why?” he rasped. “Is that why you kill people? Is that- Is that why you  _ fucking eat-” _

She slammed her knife onto the cutting board and pointed a curled finger in his direction. “I do what I do to survive.” The familiarity of those words made his blood curdle. “Surely you must understand that?”

_ He understood that more than he wanted to admit. _

The fever and poison was making his lips loose and his thoughts delirious. 

“I understand,” he breathed. “I- I did horrible things too, to sur-survive. I- I murdered people, people that I still see when I close my eyes. I- I slit throats. I shot people.  _ Burned  _ people. I’ve done it all in the name of survival.” He lifted his chin. “Do you see them?”

“What?”

“When you close your eyes? Do you see their faces? The faces of the people you killed?” 

Her eyes narrowed. Her shoulders tensed. He could tell that he was getting to her, and that was enough for it. 

“If you know what’s good for-“

Bellamy wheezed out a laugh. “I’m already dead, aren’t I?” They stared at each other for a long moment. “So, tell me. You owe me. Do you see their faces?” A pause, and then, “will you remember my face?”

His palm stung from how deep his nails dug into his skin, willing himself to stay awake  _ just for a little longer.  _

The woman stalked up to him again, her eyes burning with an anger that rivaled the fire behind her. The tip of the knife pressed against his neck, drawing blood.

_ He knew this was it. This was the end.  _ He could see the fire in her eyes. He could tell by the way she held the knife with purpose. 

He was going to die.

“You’re pretty, of course I will remember the taste of-”

The wind was knocked from Bellamy’s lungs in that moment. The table he had been propped up against was thrown backwards, sending him crashing to the ground. His head impacted the ground roughly, sending black spots across his vision.

Maybe he was already dead.

_ He could see Clarke. _

She darted across his vision, too fast for him to follow. His eyes slid shut in an attempt to stop the pounding of his headache. He could hear shouting, but it was so far away.

_ So far away. _

He died. He was sure of it. Or he was sure he was about to. He couldn’t feel his body anymore. His arms had gone completely numb. His pulse was racing at a rate he was sure was unhealthy.

It felt like he was burning. Like his core had turned to lava. Like his blood had been boiled. His head buzzed. His neck thudded with a pulse. 

Falling.

He was falling.

Or floating.

In space.

It reminded him of space.

Free-falling while waiting for the Ring to power up. No gravity holding him to the ground. Seconds ticking by. Feeling like his body wasn’t his anymore.

Falling.

Falling, falling, falling—

“—fight! You’ve got to fight, Bellamy,  _ please.”  _ Cool hands. Grounding hands. They were pulling at his shirt, running through his hair, ghosting across his skin. “Please. I- I need you. You said you needed me, well  _ I need you just as much.” _

Maybe it was the poison. Maybe it was death.

_ But he could hear Clarke. _

“You’ve got to stay with me. You have to. I- I can’t do this again without you. I don’t  _ want  _ to. I need you in my life. I- I-  _ fuck.  _ Wake up. Please. Please, please, please-“

He hated the way she was begging. He hated that she was crying.

He wanted to hold her.

He wanted to tell her it was going to be alright.

“I can’t lose you. I- I love you.  _ I love you so much and I never fucking told you.  _ An- and I can’t lose you, not now, nor without telling you, not without  _ a fucking chance.”  _ Hands brushed along the sides of his face. “Fight. Fight through this, Bellamy.  _ For me,  _ if nothing else.  _ Please.” _

He was brought back to Gabriel’s, where he begged her to get up and fight.

Where he told her that he couldn’t lose her.

When he told her that he needed her.

He missed the closeness that came with that night. The way the world was a far away dream. The way they clung to each other. The way they whispered into the night. The way they seemed to grow together. 

He felt wetness on his face and he wasn’t sure where it was from.

Tears.

They were tears.

He could hear his name, a constant plea from above.  _ Over and over.  _ Like a prayer to gods that long abandoned them.

_ Bellamy.  _

_ Bellamy.  _

_ Bellamy. _

He wanted to reply.

_ Clarke.  _

_ Clarke.  _

“Clarke.”

His voice was scratchy. His throat was tight.  _ But he said it. _

_ And she heard it.  _

“Bellamy!?” Her hands cupped the side of his cheeks. Her fingers were cool against his burning skin. He ached for more. “Bellamy!?”

It was at this moment that he found the strength to open his eyes. 

_ He wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. _

Clarke was leaning over top of him, absolute primal fear in her eyes. Her face was splattered in blood — a mix of black and crimson — both fresh and dry. Her hair was tangled and streaked with ash. Her lip was split and her cheek was bruised. Sweat lined her brow and trickled down her temple.

_ But it was her eyes. _

It was always her eyes.

They were boring into his.  _ Searching.  _ He hoped with everything in him that she found what she was looking for, that the affection written so plainly across his face was what she wanted, that the love he couldn’t hide from his eyes didn’t make her run.

_ She was alive. _

Or maybe they were both dead. The more time that ticked by, the clearer his thoughts became and the easier it was to breathe. Dead. He must’ve been dead.

Except, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to imagine her like this, not with this much clarity. Even on his most desperate days on the Ring, he couldn’t imagine her like this; he couldn’t get the details of her face right, he couldn’t get the shade of blue of her eyes right, he couldn’t get  _ her  _ right.

_ She was alive. _

**_He_ ** _ was alive. _

A stream of pleas and praises came from her lips, her words too quiet to be for anyone but him. Her hands ghosted along his body and his face, her touch so ginger, as if she was afraid he’d break under the pressure of her fingers. Her eyes darted along, examining him for any wounds.

“You’re okay,” she promised him, her voice shaking. The sound that followed was a mix between a laugh and a sob. “You’re okay.”

“But— The— Woman—” 

“Dead.” Clarke glanced over her shoulder. Bellamy could only imagine what she was looking at. “I know we said we were going to do better.  _ I know.  _ But…” She turned to him. He realized how hard she was fighting to stay strong in that moment. He watched as her walls were pulled down, one by one.  _ “She tried to kill you, Bellamy.  _ I couldn’t— I can’t—”

She didn’t need to explain.

_ He knew. _

It was a thought he had back in Sanctum. It was a thought he had while running through the woods moments ago. 

_ He would rip down societies and burn civilizations for the woman above him. _

He wet his far too dry lips. “Poison.  _ The poison.” _

Clarke reached behind her and lifted up a small vial. “The antidote.” Bellamy’s heart ached from the way her hands shook. She was as scared as he felt. “I played up my symptoms and watched her when you left. She kept checking a cupboard. When she went to the next room, I checked and it was there. I took it before it got bad.”

_ Fuck,  _ he could’ve cried at that. Maybe he already was crying. It was hard to tell. His throat was tight. His vision blurred.

_ She was alright. _

_ She was going to be fine. _

It took him a second to realize that  _ he  _ was going to be fine, too.

“Clarke,” he tried again, his voice stronger now. “I—”

_ He thought of his regrets. _

_ He thought of Clarke’s words, spoken only moments ago. _

The words stuck in his throat.

“Bellamy.”

Their gazes locked and, really, neither of them needed any words after that.

She moved slowly, at first, inching towards him without breaking eye contact. He could feel each of her breaths against his lips. His gaze dipped towards her lips for a brief moment, studying the way they moved, his body burning with want.

Clarke was the one to break the spell over them. Her lips pressed against his, a move so tender that it made his heart ache for a different reason than before. Her fingers shook against his jaw. He brought his hands up to frame hers, their fingers wrapping together, grounding both of them to that moment.

_ It was a moment he never wanted to end. _

Clarke jolted away from him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. The space between them felt grander than inches. Bellamy hated it.

They locked eyes.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— I wasn’t thinking—”

Bellamy moved forward, closing the distance between them for a second time. This kiss was slower and sweeter than the one before. He threw himself into the kiss; all the love, all the passion, all the tenderness.  _ Everything he could muster  _ was pulled forward in an attempt to tell her without a single word.

_ I love you. _

When they broke apart for a second time that day, Clarke was stunned into silence. For a long moment, the only sounds were of their shallow breaths and the crackle of the fire.

Then—

“I’m in love with you,” Bellamy said quietly. Clarke’s eyes widened with his confession. “I’ve been in love with you for years.  _ That’s why I can’t lose you.  _ Because I need you.  _ Because I care so much about you.  _ Because I love you.” He wet his lips, a wave of nervousness hitting him when she remained frozen. “I— fucking hell— I know you don’t feel the same way,  _ and that’s fine.  _ I never wanted to tell you. I just wanted— I wanted us to continue as normal.  _ Our  _ normal. Friends.  _ But fuck.  _ Almost losing you again, I knew I couldn’t— I had to—”

_ “You  _ almost lost  _ me?”  _ Clarke asked, her voice on the verge of hysterics. “Bellamy,  _ you almost died!  _ I— Do you know what that would’ve done? Do you know how I would’ve—” She sucked in a shaking breath. “You can’t  _ die  _ on me.  _ You can’t!  _ I can’t lose you! I— I love you.” Her mouth snapped shut. Her expression melted. Her shoulders sagged. And, finally, with a softened voice, she spoke again.  _ “I love you, too.  _ And I can’t lose you, Bellamy.”

“You aren’t.  _ You won’t.” _ He knew he couldn’t promise those things, but he needed the strength that came with those words. A pause, and then, “you love me?”

He sounded hopeful, desperately so.

Clarke’s fingers brushed against his cheek. The corners of her lips quirked up.

“I love you.”

“Fuck, I love you too.”

Bellamy didn’t care that they were both covered in mud and dried blood. It didn’t matter that they were both slowly recovering from poison in their veins. And he didn’t fucking care that they had almost just been murdered by a cannibalistic witch in the middle of fucking nowhere.

_ All he cared about was Clarke.  _

He knew everything was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> The following tropes were used:  
> 1) Fairytale AU: Hansel and Gretel  
> 2) Write a villain as a good guy, or a good guy as a villain: I used Russell because we stan the Lightbournes in this house. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> You can find the moodboard for this fic [here](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/post/613581578569940992/simmer-simmer-simmer-rated-m-11k-words)!


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